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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120678">where mortal hand had lain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/pseuds/notyourparadigm'>notyourparadigm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, For the most part, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium, Lyrium Use, M/M, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Spirit Cole (Dragon Age), Templar Inquisitor (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:00:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/pseuds/notyourparadigm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is struggling. Or, more accurately, dying, and struggling with the burden of what that means. Cole wants to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cole &amp; Inquisitor (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>where mortal hand had lain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had not even attempted to find sleep when he finally returned to his chambers in the early hours of the morning. He had idly gone over some old tomes in his library for a time, but the words might as well have been in another language for all he understood. His thoughts kept drifting, pulling him elsewhere, away from the pages and ink, the book and his room, away from Skyhold itself, but never to a proper destination. They left him in a sea of his own making, feet unable to find footing, thoughts clouding his view in every direction.</p><p>He needed a drink.</p><p>He had many fine vintages at his disposal, tucked away on shelves to savour at his own leisure, or to open to enjoy with the company of a companion. But he did not want a fine wine that deserved to have its flavour properly considered and acknowledged after every mouthful. For it would turn just as quickly to ash in his mouth as the letters had fallen apart before his eyes when he had tried to read. No, he needed something that tasted like <em> piss </em> -- which perhaps made him the only damned person alive to ever think such a thing. At least his current condition couldn’t make it taste any <em> worse</em>, right? At the very least, perhaps a slap to the face of some putrid drink was what would fix him.</p><p>It was thus how he decided to help himself into the tavern, vaguely aware what Josephine’s words would be if she could see him-- <em> ‘Any way they can, they’ll look for a way to undermine your authority. One off-handed remark after a few drinks, and half of Thedas will hear by morning how we have a drunkard leading the Inquisition.’  </em>Well, let them say what they wanted now. There was no more Inquisition. He was not the Inquisitor, nor the Herald of Andraste. What did that leave him? A one armed drunk, apparently.</p><p>A month ago, he could have kicked awake Bull from whichever bed he had found himself in, and been greeted with miserable grunts before being joined for late night -- or rather, stupidly early morning --  drinks. If there was ever someone to rely on to <em> not </em> bring up politics, magical trivialities, prophecies, or any other tedious bullshit, it was Bull. But after news of the Inquisition disbanding, it was obvious that the Chargers would need to return to older methods of getting by, and new patrons in need of their talents. Even though they represented only a handful of soldiers, Skyhold immediately felt much emptier after their departure.</p><p>“So few, yet they left behind so many shadows and memories. They start anew, a new beginning, but it is only an end left behind.”</p><p>He was not sure exactly when Cole had appeared-- in fact, he could not even remember sitting down at the bar table, or pouring himself an ale, yet there was one in his hand, partially full, and the taste of a bitter stout on his tongue. It was hardly <em> good</em>, presumably some old dwarven brew they had got for cheap and hadn’t yet managed to be rid of, but it was hardly the <em> worst </em> thing he had ever had to drink. </p><p>“The drink helps, for a while. Numbs, nullifies, nothingness takes hold. But then it all comes back, and it takes more to make it go away again. Is the drink from the Fade too? Is that why we are called spirits?”</p><p>He couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps. It can possess people to-- drive them mad, like a demon in their hearts. Having them act on their most crude desires. Maybe that’s why the Chantry doesn’t like either very much.”</p><p>Cole looked at him for a moment, swaying back and forth from the corner where he stood with a curious expression, as if cautious about keeping his distance.</p><p>“You can come closer,” he assured him. “I don’t mind the company.”</p><p>He had been around Cole long enough to know he would be pursuing his thoughts and feelings, but it was always rather amusing to see what memory or emotion he would find-- </p><p>“--like a child in a toy box, examining, playing with whatever his hands can find. You want your distance. You are afraid of what will happen when they come close. Creeping, corrupting, cruel and conniving. You fear what will happen. I don’t want to bother you.”</p><p>He finished the drink out of duty more than anything else, mildly annoyed at the lack of any sort of buzz for his efforts. Maybe it wasn’t just the taste that had left it neglected for so long. “I may <em> want </em> to be alone, but that doesn’t always matter. What we want and what we need are not usually the same thing.”</p><p>“Solas told me that once. He was hurting, too, but didn’t want me to help. I should have tried anyway. He just wanted to help others. Why couldn’t he let me help?”</p><p>The Inquisitor shrugged. “Your guess is probably the best. You knew who he was, even when nobody else did.”</p><p>“There’s a lot that I don’t know, too. Can’t know. Knowing is both the lock and the key, and I’m trapped behind the door. Listening, learning, living. He asked a lot about you. I don’t think he knew, either.”</p><p>“<em>He </em> asked about <em> me</em>?” That was enough to make him chuckle. “Here I  thought I was the one with all the questions. I guess I never asked the right ones. ‘So Solas, why <em> do </em>you know so much about Corypheus and his magic elven orb of doom? Oh, of course, you saw it in the Fade once! Silly me.’”</p><p>“He liked your questions. He liked talking to you, liked how you would listen even without learning. Knowing without understanding. He wanted to say more, but was afraid. You could be just like them. Dangerous and wild, hard to control once free. Would you try to cage it? It could happen again. My decisions. My consequences. No more pain by my hand.”</p><p>“I’d rather no more pain <em> in </em> my hand,” he mused bitterly, feeling the start of another spasm on his non-existent skin.</p><p>“But you don’t have your hand anymore. He took away the flesh, to temper the flame. It was all he could do, but it was still not enough. He dared not take anymore.”</p><p>“He could have done a better job,” he winced through his teeth, wishing he could stretch and move the fingers that weren’t there. “I swear he took my hand and left the bloody anchor behind.”</p><p>“I can still feel it. No longer a blinding light, but an afterglow. It hums and sings, wants to be heard, wants to be free, but it’s trapped.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose you could tell it to shut up, could you?”</p><p>“Okay. Mister Anchor, if you could please--”</p><p>“That was a joke, Cole.”</p><p>“Oh.” Cole’s face fell. “But people tell jokes to laugh. Feel the warmth in their stomach; the joy shakes and breaks free. You are full of hurt, not happiness. Just like he was full of hurt. And he didn’t want my help.”</p><p>He remembered. Cole asking to help, and Solas denying it. It had seemed so innocuous at the time-- idle chatter as they had made their way through the Hinterlands. There was a druffalo involved too, if he remembered correctly. Things were so much easier then.</p><p>“She was lost, afraid, but she smelled home on the strange men. It helped her remember, trust winning over the fear. She was happy to be back with her friends. Her owner was happy too. I liked that day.”</p><p>He didn’t remember pouring more ale, but his trencher still wasn’t empty. Maybe he’d fix that eventually. “What I wouldn’t kill to go back to that again.”</p><p>“You did kill a lot of things,” Cole remarked plainly, looking to the floor. </p><p>“I… I’m sorry Cole.” A feeling of disgust rose in his stomach. “I shouldn’t have made you come along, all those times--”</p><p>“That wouldn't have meant it didn’t happen. I’m just glad I could help. But so many people had to hurt… to stop the hurt. It feels like stealing. Take from one to give to another. Why does one deserve it more?”</p><p>“I’d like to ask Solas that.” </p><p>“I would too. I liked Solas. He helped me. He understood, and helped me be understood. But he never minded that <em> he </em>wasn’t understood. He was happier that way. He just wanted to help.”</p><p>He paused a moment, a question on his mind, but considering if he wanted to hear what Cole would answer. But of course, now Cole knew he was wondering anyways, so might as well. “Do you agree with Solas? His plan to tear down the Veil?”</p><p>Cole was still for a moment, silent with his thoughts. Perhaps asking had been a bad idea. His head arched from side to side, back and forth, unable to keep his gaze focused as he struggled with the memories. “He… is not a bad person. He’s <em> trying </em>to help. He tried to help, but it cost so much. So much pain, so much lost. All because of him. He wants to make it better, try to make things the way they were. But it would… hurt so many again. He would bring so much pain back to fix the old hurt. Purge everything, and the pain would be gone. But that would mean death, destruction, devastation. I… don’t know whose hurt is worse.  I… I don’t…”</p><p>“Cole…” He considered comforting him, but wondered if the intent behind a hug or other physical gesture would be lost on Cole. “It’s okay not to know. Perhaps he’s right. But I feel like there is another way. He just needs to see it. I wonder if he has some hope too. Maybe that’s why he didn't just kill me right there.”</p><p>Cole was calm again, but his expression remained dark. “You think he should have. Finished the job, tied up loose ends. No more struggle, spared the suffering. <em> ‘Enjoy while you can’ </em>, but you can only feel the pain. Why do you think that?”</p><p>“I… don’t.” He lied.</p><p>“Yes you do.”</p><p>“Okay-- but, maybe I wish I didn’t. I-- I just… I’m <em> tired </em>, Cole.” His hand found itself damp with sweat as he idly massaged his neck. “I thought I could handle this again-- after we dealt with Corypheus, what couldn’t we do? But… now…”</p><p>“...creeping, inching forward, the sand continues to fall. Veins hot with veil fire, dreams of the darkness that waits.”</p><p>The Inquisitor tightened his grip on the flagon, trying to keep the tremors from possessing his hand entirely. “Solas told me. It’s only a matter of time before the anchor kills me. I’m on borrowed time.”</p><p>“Would it have been better if he lied to you?”</p><p>“I’m not afraid to die.”</p><p>“Yes you are.”</p><p>“Okay-- you should <em> really </em>let me lie to myself sometimes.”</p><p>“Sorry.” He bowed his head. “I made it worse, didn’t I? I only want to help.”</p><p>He wanted to tell Cole to piss off, like he would have with anyone else at that moment, but his soft expression-- lips all but pouting, eyes sad with concern -- dispelled some of the irritation that grew in his stomach. “I know you do. I just… don’t think you can help this time.”</p><p>Cole paused for a moment of thought. “I... could make you forget, but-- not really. A part of you would still know. It’s in you, a part of you. You’d feel it tearing at you, writhing, fighting-- not knowing would be worse. Fighting a fear without a name, an enemy with no face.”</p><p>“That does sound bad,” he agreed. He remembered how horrifying it was when he first woke up back at Haven, the anchor crackling at his skin, and no memory of how it got there. </p><p>“A blast of noise and light, deafening and blinding, leaving darkness and silence. What’s going on? Where is everyone? Why can’t I remember? Pain, searing, ripping and clawing, skin peeling from your arm. Why me? Why me?”</p><p>“You know, I do miss when the anchor kept you <em> out </em>of my head.” Everyone else always had a hard time warming up to Cole, and he was beginning to understand why. </p><p>“No longer blinding, but I can still feel it. A warm glow, remnants of the flame, lingering behind. But you have the old songs, too, like the templars. It’s reaching, trying to connect, but the mark gets in the way. They fight and dance, both flame and song. The two chains have different links, but they pull towards the same place.”</p><p>“What?” He had to repeat Cole’s words in his head, trying to piece together what the riddle meant. “The… lyrium? Is the lyrium stopping the anchor from getting worse?”</p><p>“Not stopping. Only fighting. But the burning is too strong, always drawing from the Fade, always growing, it burns hotter.”</p><p>“No <em> wonder </em> I feel like shit. Between the anchor and the lyrium, it’s a wonder my body hasn’t just dissolved to dust by now.” He couldn’t help but give a bitter scoff. What Cullen would have to say about <em> that </em>. He’d all but begged him not to go through Ser’s training. But if the lyrium was helping him save his life… it wasn’t likely he was going to be alive long enough to reach the senile stage most Templars awaited, anyways.</p><p>“They take it, and it keeps the whispers away, stops the Fade from reaching in. But it digs deeper too, doesn’t know where to stop, keeps blocking more. The songs become noise, churning, fading, then clear again. They forget the words, cry for the names that were lost. Looking, searching, but the bookcase is empty. The chest is locked. Where did they all go?”</p><p>“You don’t need to remind me, Cole.”</p><p>“Forgetting doesn’t always help. The Templars got so sad. Angry, desperate, afraid, and then they couldn’t remember why. Panic. Words on the paper, they’re mine, but they can’t be. Is this a dream? The song keeps calling, but they don’t understand the words.”</p><p>The Inquisitor’s patience was at his limit, bringing the flagon down on the table with more force than intended, earning a noise of disapproval from Cole. “If it’s that or letting the anchor kill me, what choice do I have? Even if it only buys me a few-- what, months? Weeks?” How much longer <em> did </em> he have?</p><p>Cole frowned. “I wish you didn’t have to die.”</p><p>“You and me both.”</p><p>“I wish I could help.”</p><p>The Inquisitor swallowed hard. Thinking about it was difficult, almost painful -- his throat tightened as if under the grasp of someone’s hand. “There actually is something I think you could do. But… not for me.”</p><p>He couldn’t say it aloud. </p><p>Luckily, with Cole he didn’t have to-- he only had to watch the boy’s expression furrow with thought as he explored the thoughts. </p><p>“That doesn’t... make sense. Why would you want that? A hand against my chest, whispers in my ear, we treasure it all. Sighing, smiling, the joy swells. We would risk so much for another day, another hour, one more embrace before dawn.”</p><p>Getting more upset wouldn’t help, but he hoped that Cole could feel how his words twisted at his heart. “I haven’t told... I haven’t told <em> anyone </em>. They don’t know that— that I…”</p><p>“It keeps spreading, like a stain across fabric, growing closer with each day. The sand piles up, and soon the glass will be empty. The sand falls, a hand falls, a chest falls still. Blink, then nothing.”</p><p>“I want to save the world, if I can. Even if I’m not around to see it. But if everyone knew, would they be able to do the same? Would they even bother trying? They’d all insist we try to save me, somehow. Waste time looking for answers. We don’t have <em> time. I </em> don’t have time. If they knew, especially if<em>… </em>”</p><p>“A hand on my cheek, eyes on my lips. The smells of wine and the kiss of summer. <em> ‘Wait for me.’ </em>The warmth lingers on my skin, but the guilt lingers in my heart. We will wait forever.”</p><p>“<em>Thank you, </em>Cole,” he hissed through a clenched jaw.</p><p>“Saying it out loud helps me understand. You're in love. Why would you want them to forget you? You make them happy. They would miss that.”</p><p>“You can only miss what you remembers. I can’t bring myself to say it... Not now, when so much else is at stake. I can’t let this distract us. Not when we have already accomplished so much, and through so much pain…”</p><p>“There would be a part missing. Silence in the song, pages missing. Shadows in the mind, but nobody is there to cast them. Forgetting doesn’t always help.”</p><p>He thought he was going to give another bitter scoff-- it seemed most of his life, he was only able to laugh at how cruelly fate treated him. But it was more of a half-stifled sob that escaped his throat instead, although he still found himself holding a stiff smile through the pathetic sound. The tears finally took their cue to run down his cheek, marking their path down his skin onto the fabric of his shirt. “This will hurt them… so much. Hurt <em> me</em>, knowing the pain. I can’t keep myself from dying. I don’t see any other choice. </p><p>“You always have a choice. You just don’t want to think about them. It hurts. Worse than your arm, or the mark, it hurts the worst of all.”</p><p>Cole watched the Inquisitor carefully as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Watched and listened. </p><p>“I want to help.”</p>
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